Stitches and Ragady
by piratequeenz
Summary: A story focusing on Stitches' interactions with his sister Ragady, and his plot to pull her away from the Scarecrow. Rated for violence.  revised from earlier one
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All Dc characters obviously belong to DC, not me. I own only Ragady and her brother Stitches.

((Author's note: It's known that Ragady has an older brother, Stitches. What I felt like doing here is showing a bit of their interactions, focusing more on his view point. This takes place some time after he has returned.))

He often times watched them, the pretty little people walking by the window. Too busy to look inside the dark, too busy to see him there. Not that Stitches minded. He sat back in his chair, glancing from form to form, scanning the passing crowds with his single unstitched eye.

A hand placed itself on his shoulder, though he knew only because he saw it from the corner of his eye. He felt no physical sensation, but he knew who it was. A warm smile stretched across his stitched lips before she could even speak.  
>"Are you watching the littel humans, mein bruder?" she leaned forward to peer out the window, her floor length hair falling forward over her shoulder as she moved.<br>"Ich wartete für Du." He smiled, placing his likewise stitched hand on hers instinctively, admiring how much color her skin had retained compared to his own, which was a sickly gray-almost green.  
>"That one would make a good doll..." she spoke casually, pointing out the window at a woman with a bob cut, wearing a business suit and talking fast on a phone.<br>"Ze face leaves something zu be desired, ja? Ich vould haben zu vork on it…"  
>"There's always something wrong with them, isn't there?"<br>"Vith _zem_, ja."

Her eyes drifted back to look at him, though he could not decipher what they said. They were empty. Over the years his sister, who had always been considerably colder than the other children, had grown to become even less. But he didn't say this too her, he remained silent, returning to her the careful lack of emotion she gave.  
>"Are you taking care of yourself?" he asked instead, turning her to face him.<br>He searched over her stitched-together body for any new bruises, cuts, any signs of illness, anything untrained eyes would miss. He instinctively reached for the stethoscope around his neck, rising from the chair to check her heart beat, but she took a step back and withdrew her hand from his.  
>"Are these check ups really needed?" she asked, voice hinting at annoyance though her face showed nothing.<br>"Vith our...condition, ja, it ist." He responded, motioning for her to take a seat on the table by the lighted section in the dark room. She complied, but not without a mild sigh.  
>"I check over meinself several times a day, I survived just fine-" he paused from placing his bag down on the table to glance at her, but she had already stopped short. She didn't need to finish the sentence, he knew what she was going to say.<br>"I'm very careful..." she chose to say instead, looking away. She knew the sting behind her words.

He stared at her, counting to ten in his head, and then took a deep breath, let it out slowly. She did just fine for the years he was gone, she was going to say. For the years that he was trapped, the years he exchanged for her life. Her words placed an unseen weight on his chest, so that it was difficult for him to speak again.  
>"Ist it so bat fur me to vant to make sure you are all right?" he whispered.<br>"Most brothers simply ask."  
>"Most sisters feel physical sensation und do not vork vith psychopaths." He turned his eye to her and instinctively gripped the edges of the table tightly, not nearly as good at hiding his emotions as she was.<br>"Psychopath? That's a new one for you to call my Master Scarecrow. Tell me, how are your patients doing, herr Doktor? The ones who _didn't_ sign consent forms?" she asked, still just as calmly, somehow without an ounce of bitterness behind her voice.  
>He opened his mouth to retort, but swiftly closed it again. He tried to think of a response, and failed. In his head, there were several justifications he could have given, or several biting remarks, but he realized that wouldn't help matters in the least. He let out a defeated sigh instead.<br>"Ist it too much fur me to vorry about you?"

Silence. Then her turn to give a sigh.  
>"I appreciate the thought, but I'm not a child. I can take care of meinself."<br>"Nein! Du können nicht! You do not notice your own vounds, you do not tend to zem in time, you ignore vhat's wrong vith you until you neet ein hospital, und even zen you kill your nurse und leave too early!"  
>"It's not my fault if the humans can't fix a form as well as you can." She gave a gentle smile in the face of his temper, trying to change the subject with a compliment. She wouldn't admit her fault. Still, it was hard for him to ignore her smile, when she so rarely gave one.<br>"At least let mich check your temperature und fur any broken bones, ja? Ze last thing ve neet ist fur you to run around vith ein nother fever, ja?" he offered his last ditch effort, and she graciously gave a nod.

So he took her temperature, had her wiggle all of her toes and fingers, moved her arms and legs and checked her back neck and ribs for any broken bones, finding none. At the same time he checked on the bruises and scabs, the few burn marks, making sure they were healing properly. Everything seemed to be checking out just fine, and her temperature was normal. He breathed a sigh of relief on the inside, offering a smile on the outside.

"Everything seems fine," He smiled, documenting the results as always, "But you shoult really consider keeping varmer, just because you do not feel kalt does not mean you von't get hypothermia." He suggested, pausing from the clipboard to glance at her. Her attention already seemed to have flown out the door, back to her job and her "master".  
>"Of course, I know that." She smiled, sliding from the table and smoothing her dress, which could certainly use some more length to it. Perhaps he could talk that Scarecrow-creep into convincing her to wear something longer, in the very least with the weather growing colder. She would listened to that man at least. One of these days he was going to cut into that Scarecrow man and stuff him full of straw, turn him into a real scarecrow. Then his sister would listen to him again. Then his sister would-<p>

"What are you planning?" her question interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced down at her with a fake smile.  
>"Nichts." But she raised an eye brow and obviously didn't believe him.<br>"I'm going now..."  
>"Ah, zen take care, meine liebste Schwester. See you again soon..." he smiled, setting the clipboard down to walk her to the door. They hugged shortly, and she went on her way out the door, bare feet trotting carelessly on the concrete. He really wished she would wear shoes sometimes, what if she stepped on something sharp? She wouldn't even notice unless someone pointed out that she was bleeding. He closed the door with a shake of his head, moving back into the dark. Such a short visit, and already his sister was off. Returning to that...human. Just the thought made his chest feel tight, his head swim, as if he could be sick any moment. He gripped his head and stumbled back to the table, leaning on it for support. His eyes glanced down at the bag. Reaching in, he withdrew one of his scalpels. He liked the way they looked, and held it up to the light. Admiring the way it gleamed, a twisted smile curved his face as a plan began to form in his head...<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

((Disclaimer: Scarecrow belongs to DC, everything else belongs to me. This chapter will also give a brief glance into the world of my own creation, the Nowhere Mansion. Enjoy the sneak peak. ))

"Welches zu verwenden Teil?" Stitches pondered, as he held up to the form being built two pairs of eyes in jars. One green set, one blue. He had been working on this form, one of his newest creations, for some time, and was quite pleased with the progress.  
>"Nein. Keine." He decided, setting the jars down. A hand slid out of the work table, grabbed the jars and slid along down the table, onto the concrete floor, moved over and up the wall to place them back where they belonged on the shelves. The hand melted then, back into the wall, as if it had never been there at all. Stitches smiled, admiring his work for a moment. The flesh was still gray, lifeless, but he knew soon…soon it would be finished. He ran a gentle finger along the line of the eyeless face with a smile. She would be perfect, his creation. Unlike the humans running around the world he came from. His creation…would be flawless. He smiled, giddy at how close she was to completion, so very close! Only a few missing details, they had to be just right! Perhaps he had not harvested the perfect eyes yet. Perhaps he needed to visit the human world again-<p>

"Stitches?" a knock on the door, as familiar as the voice. Lady, The eternal child, always interrupting his work with demands for games.  
>"Was wünschen Du?" he demanded through the door, not in the mood for her petty little hide-and-seek games today.<br>"Someone's here you'll wanna see!" the child sang through the door, a knowing tone in the voice. He paused for a moment, considered what she had just told him. Someone he wanted to see? Only one person that could be! He smiled, his day already that much better as he whisked to the door and unlocked the numerous dead bolts and chain locks to rush out into the twisting halls. 

The hallways were dark, though they looked like they had once been elegant, the peeling wall paper and dripping water were only two of the many signs that it had fallen to disrepair. The lights were dim and always flickering it seemed, the furniture had a habit of getting up and moving, sometimes the walls would breathe, sometimes the walls would bleed. But none of this bothered him any longer, everyone who lived here grew used to it with time. In fact, his grin lit his face as he made his way to the main hall, where guests were received, though he wondered why she hadn't simply come to his lab. Perhaps she had been called by one of the Triad? It didn't matter, she was here-

He froze as he turned the corner and the smile fell from his face. What...what was he doing here? 

"Ah, Stitches, mein bruder!" Ragady turned and smiled, greeted him with a hug. He returned the hug, though his eyes were still on the other man. The human man who claimed the title of Scarecrow, even dressing as one. Why was he here, in this realm? Ragady must have picked up on what Stitches was wondering, because she followed his gaze.  
>"The Triad wished to meet Master Scarecrow..." she explained, smiling at the three in the room as if nothing were wrong. Only now did he notice the Triad sisters sitting in the room. Webb in purple, Starr in pink, Wizz in blue as always, with hair that matched and bright red eyes. Each were in formal dresses this night, a pleasant smile on their faces. Webb sitting in the middle, just a bit higher than the other two, as the oldest. Even in their child forms, there was an air of confidence about them only beings of power would know. Scarecrow was not taking his eyes off them, no doubt because Ragady had given him a few ideas of how to behave in this realm. Under her breath she whispered to Stitches,<br>"It seems he drew their attention now because of me, I hope it doesn't end badly for him..." she breathed her apprehension in a single sentence, a pleasant smile on her face as a grinning Webb held out a hand for Ragady to approach.

"Ragady, my dear girl, no need to be afraid. Or to whisper secrets all of us can hear!" the eldest Webb laughed, and the other two followed the lead, though the laughs from them were not true. It was all a show, the mannerisms. As if each of them were suddenly in a play, expected to play their roles. Ragady gave him a single glance, though he already knew her detest for these games the Shadow Force family played. She moved as instructed to Webb, and glanced at the offered hand in hesitance. The three of them who knew what would happen said nothing, did not even look. Ragady took the offered hand, and fell to her knees in an instant gasp of breath, before Webb withdrew the hand with a smile. Stitches watched Scarecrow for a reaction same as the others, since he himself was allowed to do nothing, and noted only a slight twitch in the human's leg. The Scarecrow had either been told not to interfere no matter what they did, or he didn't truly care. Stitches guessed the later.

"I thought you might like a taste of the pain you lack." Webb smiled pleasantly, turning to Scarecrow as if nothing had happened just then.  
>"It's so nice to finally meet you. We have heard so much from these two," she nodded at Stitches and Ragady respectively. Ragady shuddered from the pain she usually did not feel, but recovered and collected herself as quickly as possible. Stitches moved to stand by her, offering support, though he was not foolish enough to touch her now. This was a time for appearances, not desires. There was a certain ceremony to meeting new people, to a human being brought to this realm for the first time. No one was to be out of line, everything was to be their ideal of proper, the visiting humans would be allowed only the smallest glimpses of the nightmares hidden in this realm. Glimpses that could be easily ignored or dismissed if needed.<p>

Scarecrow took a bow, making Starr give a small giggle.  
>"So formal, this one! Did Ragady ask him to be? Oh do relax; we're not all that bad!" Starr giggled, trying to lighten the mood, though such a thing was impossible in a world with no sunlight.<br>"We did not call you here to harm you," Wizz spoke now, calmly and straight to the point as always,  
>"We simply wanted to meet you. We have heard so much. Our Ragady speaks so kindly of you." Wizz gave a weak smile at Ragady. Scarecrow stood up tall again, and offered a smile in return through his mask. Why hadn't they asked him to remove it? He should have removed it in front of them! Had he never been taught proper manners, any form of respect?<p>

"That is very kind of you. I have heard a good deal about you as well." He responded, and Stitches saw Ragady hold her breath.  
>"Really?" Webb's smile held every ounce of the danger she was capable of, "What kinds of things have you heard, do tell?" a single glance to Ragady, making her wince, because it was no secret to them how Ragady felt about this place, or why she was never around.<br>"I have heard you are very powerful, and that you were kind enough to grant Ragady another life." He answered carefully, and while Ragady let out a sigh of relief Stitches' eyes snapped back to the stick of a form. Granted? It was he who had struck the deal to bring her back! He who had joined the living dead so that she might live again! And it had been him who had sewn his sister back together when the humans tore her apart! He had sold his humanity, given his body and his life so that she might live again, spent years in this nightmare realm torn to pieces yet still alive before Wizz built his body again. The Shadow Force gave nothing, without taking something else!

"Stitches," Wizz spoke to him calmly, and he realized that his hands had balled into fists.  
>"You should return to your lab." Wizz instructed. Appearances. Stitches took a silent breath to calm himself, forcing a smile.<br>"Ack, keine Notwendigkeit an dem." He tried to wave it off with a smile, but she shook her head.  
>"Go back to your lab." It was an order this time, and he was not able to say no. He gave a nod, though no longer forced the smile, his eyes drifting to his sister and lingering for only a moment, before he turned to leave the room. Webb had begun chatting with Scarecrow as if they had known each other for ages as Stitches moved out of ear shot.<p>

He walked silently to his lab, wishing he could have stayed longer, known the interaction, found out the real reason they had that man here, made sure his sister... He shook his head as he reached his lab door, the hallways having grown shorter as if his lab knew how quickly he desired to be back behind the locked door. His legs seemed heavy, but the door swung open for him with a creek, and slammed shut just in time for him to lean against it. The locks snapped shut without him, the room responding already to his mood. He stood in silence, leaned against the steel door. Gradually, he lifted his head enough to glance around his lab of a room. The operating tables, the tools lining the walls, the shelves upon shelves of harvested parts...and his most recent project. How long had he spent in this room? It seemed to be years. He moved to the table, each step a burden, to his creation. He stared at the incomplete form for a moment, before reaching a hand out to once again touch the cold flesh. He ran a finger gently along the lines of the arm, up the shoulder to the face, and lingered there for a moment.

And then he dug into the flesh as his stitched eye twitched, pulling the face apart and slicing furiously into the limbs, tearing off the pieces and flinging them to the side. The floor molded into hands and arms attempting to salvage and clean the mess even as he made it. He dug and tore into the flesh, ripping and tearing until there was nothing left but a small mass of intestines and torn up flash at his feet, the pieces strewn around him so that even the helping hands had stopped trying. He stood among the refuse, what had moments before been a life in the making, and it wasn't enough.

With a wail, he moved over to the shelves, sliding the contents off onto the floor before just shoving the entire shelf over, not even hearing the crash of the breaking vessels as the contents sloshed onto the ground. The helping hands faced him, as if watching. He breathed heavy as his limbs shook, stared at the fallen shelf as if waiting for it to respond, as if waiting for it to get up and fight him. His eye stared forward for a long while, and then slowly drifted back to the torn apart form, that just earlier had brought him such pride. He calmed just a bit at seeing the only bit left of it, and at last gave way to the weight on his shoulders. Slumping with a sob, he leaned forward until his forehead touched the floor, squeezing his single eye shut and allowing the tears to come.

"Stitches," a calm voice spoke from the darkness. He didn't have to look up to know it was Wizz. His savior, his creator, the mistress and mother he could feel nothing for.  
>"What have you done?" she sighed, moving through and over the broken glass and ruined organs, kneeling down to place a hand on his shoulder.<br>"We've talked about this, haven't we?" she asked, moving a hand beneath his face to guide him upwards, she lifted his head so they were face to face. Neither face gave any true emotion to the other, though she held his face in her hands so tenderly.  
>"Come on, this solves nothing. Talk to me, why are you so upset?" she asked. He frowned, pulling with a jerk from her grasp.<br>"Sie können sehen vor meinem geistigen Auge. You can reat mein mind, ja?" he spat the words, leaning back and looking away from her. He would have _crawled_ away from her, but he remained in place, knowing better than that.

"Vhat did zat stick-man vant here?" he asked, "Zey left alreaty, ja?" Again, he didn't even get to say good by properly.  
>"Yes, Webb sent them back. She offered him a position here, ever the spider catching flies." Wizz answered, and it almost made him vomit. She offered him a position in the family? If he accepted, Stitches would be unable to touch him, it would be against the rules! He had begun to panic already when Wizz spoke again,<br>"He said he would consider it. But you know Webb. She never gives up when she find a target. She simply waits." Wizz stood again to go, her heels crunching in the glass.  
>"Whatever it is you're planning, you will have to get it done soon." He turned swiftly to look at her, but Wizz was already gone again. So she knew. They all knew. What did this mean? Was Webb's move tonight deliberate? What were they planning? There was no way for him to be sure. He held the new information in his mind, as the helping hands began to slowly clean up the mess he had made. It seemed things were growing more complicated, there were more players now in the game. It wouldn't stop him! He got up to help collect the things that could still be salvaged, cleaning up the mess. From the destruction, something new will be built...<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: mention to Scarecrow, who belongs to DC. Everything Else belongs to me.

((Author's note: This was told from first person perspective just to experiment a bit, from Stitches point of view. The Conversation is supposed to be an English translation from the German they would have been speaking. ))

"Hello, my brother." Her voice speaks to me from the darkness, drifts across my skin, but I don't turn to look at her. I wait for her to step out of the darkness, and I can feel the mad smile cross my lips. I lean against the closest lab table, and work to repress my grin as I speak to her.  
>"You came, my sister…" My voice is darker than I would like, it holds that sinister air, but I can't keep it back, not today. She must sense something is wrong, because I can hear her take a step forward. I stop her cold with my next choice of words.<br>"I spoke to Webb recently, I brought to her an idea of mine." I turn only my head, glancing at her face for a reaction. She knows the name all too well.  
>"Webb? What would you possibly want with her?" she asks, and I catch a hint of curiosity in her cold eyes, as well as worry. Tiny, miniscule, but it is there. My smile grows.<br>"It's quite remarkable really. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner, it works out perfectly. I presented to her my idea, and she said to me, she said:  
>"Stitches, that is positively sinister, positively cruel. I'll do it, you have my support." And of course, you can't imagine how pleased I am to have her support of all things." I turn my full form to her then, crossing my arms over my chest with my mad grin, and I think she is beginning to grasp how serious I am at last.<br>"Stitches…what did you do?" her eyes widen, and she takes a step back, but I take a larger step forward to close the distance.

I reach out to her, and part a stray strand of hair from her face. I know my mad smile is still in place, and I can hear it in my voice when I speak, but I don't care.  
>"She is keeping an eye on him now, that Scarecrow. She agrees with me, you see. You spend too much time away from your family, away from where you belong. So, she has agreed that you should stay here, with me. Because if you don't, I'm sure you're well aware of her abilities. All it would take is the snap of her fingers, and that human dressed as a Scarecrow…will be dead." I whisper the last to her, and I think it takes a full minute of silence for her to truly register what I have told her. She takes a step back, turning wide disbelieving eyes to me, almost as if begging me to be lying, but my twisted smile answers that question for her.<br>"You…you can't mean it…" she shook her head, but my smile only grew.  
>"But…why? Why would you do that?" If I didn't know any better, I would almost say she could cry. But I do know better, and that fact in itself drives me forward, so that in the next moment I have her slender throat in my hands, and her back against the wall.<br>"WHY? You ask me WHY?" I hiss the words in her ear as she struggles for breath, "Because THIS, is all you understand, isn't it?" I tighten my grip, and her eyes flutter shut. I lean in closer.  
>"I gave my life to bring you back, and now all you understand is fear, isn't it?" She squeezes her eyes shut, so I demand again,<br>"ISN'T IT?" She gives a shudder, and all but moans the admittance,  
>"Yes…"<p>

I push away from her so fast I knock into the table, grasping it for support. I look up to see pure desire in her eyes for more, as it takes a moment for her eyes to clear, takes a moment for her to realize who she is staring after. And who is staring back. Our eyes meet in that moment, and we both understand. She looks away first in shame as she slides down the wall. I look away in disgust with myself, because in the end this is my fault. I wanted to bring her back, and I didn't care how or what the results would be. And here she is. My crippled little sister, addicted to fear, unable to give or enjoy anything else. The madness bubbles up, and says that perhaps it would have been best, if we were both dead, and for a moment, I can see it so clearly. Her form torn apart once more, organs spilling from an open gut, glistening and naked to the world, with my blood soaked form by her side picking through the remaining pieces. I can see it so clearly…so clearly…so clearly…

I cover my face with my hands, hiding the vision from myself, pushing it away. It's my fault. I peak through my hands to see her sitting there so pitiful, staring away into the darkness, her face so cold…always so cold…and it's because of me. Because I made a deal with this creature of shadows, gave humanity to be returned something inhuman.  
>"We are damned creatures…this is clear…" my voice is calmer than I would have thought possible,<br>"But we are damned together." I move forward, and kneel in front of her, my face as deceptively calm as hers always is. I reach to turn her head to face me, but she won't meet my eyes, still staring off at nothing to the side.  
>"We are damned together." Her face still gives me nothing, even as I search it, it shows nothing. Her eyes are as empty as when she was dead. Sometimes I wonder if she were ever truly brought back to life at all, or if this was simply her body animated, soulless. I suppose I will never know. I let go of her, allow her to readjust herself, but she has gone as limp as the namesake she once had, as limp as a ragdoll.<br>"Lifeless….you're always…so…lifeless…" I stand and back away from her, holding back my tears, replacing them with rage.  
>"Just remember. You leave, and your "master Scarecrow" dies." I remind her one last time, and turn to leave her to the shadows. I have it now, the one thing that will keep her by me. The very one who took her from me, will bind her to my side.<p> 


End file.
